Firefighter Tanner Hall is used to running into burning buildings and risking his life to save others. It's just another day of work for the father of two. But when he gets a call from the San Diego zoo about an animal attack, he has no idea what he...
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My mother always used to say that it takes a special kind of crazy to run into a burning building when everyone else is running out.
As I sit in my truck, drumming my thumbs against the steering wheel and preparing to head inside the station, I wonder what kind of crazy she would call running back into a burning building after surviving a hellacious two-story fall that left me nearly dead.
Maybe it isn't crazy at all. Maybe it's just plain stupid. But it's exactly what I'm doing.
When I say I nearly died, I'm not being dramatic. After flatlining in the ambulance as they rushed me to the hospital with eight cracked ribs, two punctured lungs, a shattered femur, and a small brain bleed, I'm somewhat of a medical miracle. It took three surgeries, and sixteen weeks of rehab to repair the damage, but walking into the station for my first shift back, I feel as good as new.
I grab my bag out of the backseat and sling it over my shoulder. I've waited for this day for four long months, and now that it's here, I'm on top of the fucking world.
The break was nice at first. I spent time with my kids; got some work done around the house. I even took a trip to visit a buddy who runs a fishing resort in Vancouver—my first vacation in five years. But as time dragged on, I went a little stir-crazy, itching to get back on the job. Back in my element. Back in control of my life.
Fire's in my blood, and without it, I have a hard time even knowing who I am. Maybe it's because I'm an adrenaline junkie, or maybe I've got a hero complex, but whatever it is that draws me to this job, I live for it.
My father's a firefighter, and my grandfather was before him. As a kid, I used to sit on the floor listening to them tell all their crazy stories after each shift, hanging on to their every word. I didn't have action figures growing up. I had figurines of firefighters and every type of toy engine you could imagine. Every Halloween until I was twelve, I dressed up in a firefighter costume, wearing my dad's helmet proudly. It was no surprise when my two older brothers and I joined the family business.
I started at the academy fresh out of high school and fought tooth and nail for my spot on the truck. It wasn't an easy road, but I wouldn't let anything in the world stop me from putting on that suit and helmet with my own name printed on the front. Now at thirty- one, I'm the youngest captain in our district, I have two valor medals to my name, and I lead the most elite team of firefighters in the entire district.
The buzz of the firehouse is like music to my ears. It's busy today, and the adrenaline is already pulsing through my veins. Thundering in my chest. I'm so ready for this that I'm shaking.
As I come up the stairs, I see my guys all over the station. Some are lifting weights and working out, while others are playing cards at the kitchen table. A few more laugh and tease each other about the cooking competition that's on TV. I'm a fireman because I love fighting fires, but this is the kind of thing I missed the most when I was down. The camaraderie, the connection, the brotherhood.
